


Help Me Make it Through the Night

by ssaizzzzzzzie



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Aaron Hotchner, Light Angst, Nightmares, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24783952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssaizzzzzzzie/pseuds/ssaizzzzzzzie
Summary: “Do you uh, can we talk about what’s happening right now?”Hotch was staring at the carpet with such intensity, you thought he was about to burn a hole in it. However, once you began to speak, he immediately looked at you, making eye contact and listening in true gentlemanly fashion.“You should get some more sleep, I asked that the team be back at the police station ready to work by 9.” He replied calmly.You were absolutely dumbfounded, so beyond comprehension of the situation at this point, your mouth hung open in bewilderment.In which you try and talk with Hotch about why he's up at 2:30 in the morning.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner & Reader, Aaron Hotchner/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 231





	Help Me Make it Through the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so this is the first fic I've written in quite a while, but I'm pretty impressed with how it turned out. I hope y'all enjoy it, I'd love some feedback as well! Also, there are some trigger warnings for the fic (just want to keep y'all safe from some touchy subjects), and are attached at the end of the note. Again, enjoy!
> 
> TW: describes symptoms of a panic attack/intense stress, mentions nightmares, blood, gun violence, death of close friends and family

The slamming of a door is never a good sign. The slamming of a door at 2:30 in the morning was most definitely not a good sign. Now, while you’d typically be much quicker to investigate, you wanted nothing more than to go back to bed. 

For starters, you weren’t spending the night in your own bed. You were spending the night in Danbury, Connecticut, hunkered down in the room of a chain hotel. The FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, in which you work as a profiler and situational grief counselor to the friends and families of victims, had been called in by local law enforcement to assist with a case. From the initial presentation, Danbury had a “standard-issue” serial killer in its midst. While the team had plenty of information, you all were having trouble putting the victimology with the murders themselves, as well as trying to pinpoint a signature based on reports from the medical examiner. After traveling in and immediately jumping into the case, the team decided it would be best for you all to go to the hotel and get some rest so there’d be some fresh eyes on the case in the morning.

The hotel experience was a whole other ballgame. Via a series of texts and calls on the drive to the hotel, the team was picking who to room with. It was a decent hotel with each room having two queen sized beds, so it made sense to have the team double up and not blow out funds from the Bureau. From what you gathered in the communication chaos, JJ and Prentiss chose to double up, Morgan (despite not wanting to, but being told to via a long, long text from Garcia) was rooming with Reid, and Rossi worked some of his “rich man magic” to nab a single-bed suite on the top floor. To everyone’s amusement but your own, you were left to room with Hotch. 

To clarify, you had no problem with sharing a room with Hotch. Other than the fact that the two of you both preferred showering in the morning, there was nothing that indicated you would even need to interact in the room. Sure, it’d be nice, given that you quite enjoyed the tone and formality with which he spoke. Hell, you quite enjoyed everything about that man. The way he dresses, the intense stare he gives suspects in custody while leading an interrogation, his rare yet gentle smile, all of it seemed to make the butterflies in your stomach go absolutely wild. Of course, you haven’t told anyone about your little workplace crush. Not only does it feel inappropriate to have feelings for your boss, but you’re also not interested in the teasing that would definitely occur between you and the other teammates. You could imagine it now: Derek trying to give you tips on how to make a move, Reid being baffled trying to understand the severity of your attraction, Garcia, JJ, and Prentiss all trying to talk hot gossip about the situation, and Rossi trying to play matchmaker. As amusing as it could be, it seemed in your best interest to keep your mouth shut. You saw one of two situations playing out: either you keep your mouth shut long enough that the crush dissipates, or you come right out and tell Hotch how you feel. However, you didn’t see either of those situations occurring in the near future, so you continued “business as usual,” keeping your mouth shut and hoping your profiler friends aren’t trying desperately to figure you out.

Despite wanting to return to bed, a random door slamming late at night was not something you wanted to leave unexamined. As you got out of your bed, you glanced over at Hotch’s to see if the door had woken him up. Much to your surprise, the other bed was empty, meaning the slamming door somehow correlated with Hotch. You walked over to the front door of the hotel room, only to see the door locked up. Every dresser drawer was closed, but the sound was too loud to be from one of them anyway. As you walked around the room again to see if you overlooked anything, you saw a faint glow coming from under the bathroom door. Made sense, it’s the only door that could be slammed while cooped up in a hotel room. The door was probably closed with too much force when Hotch got up to go in there, so you crawled back into bed, knowing that you could go back to bed knowing you and your boss weren’t in any immediate danger.

At least, you thought you could go back to bed. Something inside told you began to insist there was something wrong. Even unintentionally, Hotch didn’t seem like the door slamming type. Alongside of that, you were able to faintly make out what was happening in the bathroom, as the bed you chose was closest to the adjoining wall. From the sound of it, the sink would run for about a minute at a time, then shut off and be followed by the sound of splashing water. So he was trying to wake up? That didn’t make much sense, given that the process had repeated itself several times in about 20 minutes, making it nearly 3 in the morning. It had been a few minutes since the sink turned back on, and though you were totally confused, you climbed out of bed once again to figure out what was going on.

Walking up to the door, you stifled a loud yawn as you gently knocked on the door.

“Hotch, you all good in there? I’m not one to judge, but 20 minutes seems like a long time for a late-night bathroom break.”

You were mentally kicking yourself, did you need to say anything other than “all good?” However, your self-reprimands ended abruptly when you registered that you didn’t get an answer. Concerned, you gently knocked on the door again.

“Hotch? Is everything okay?”

Still no answer. You began to mentally freak out, this kind of behavior was so uncharacteristically Hotch. The man on the other side of this door has stared death and danger in the face numerous times, yet hasn’t answered your attempts to check in on him. The third time you went for the door, you reached for the handle, which thankfully indicated the door was unlocked.

“I’m going to open the door now. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

As you pulled open the door, you winced at the brightness of the bathroom light. Seriously, the bulbs were glowing so bright you could feel heat radiating from them. You quickly dismissed the thought, since you were in there for the sole reason of checking on your boss/temporary roommate/secret crush. He was standing at the sink, both hands flat on the counter, staring himself down in the mirror. The look in his eyes sent your heart plunging to the deepest pit in your body. 

His deep brown eyes appeared full of desperation, like he was searching the reflection for something. You refused to accept it, but you saw fear across his face and body. His chest was rising and falling heavily. His hands, though on the counter to balance his weight, were shaking. The expression he wore on his face seemed to be a result of physical and mental exhaustion, and it absolutely killed you to see any of this. Regardless of any emotional longing associated with this man, you wanted to do nothing more than help, at least for tonight.

Now, you knew that you had to bring his focus back on the rest of his surroundings, but figuring out how to do so was the tricky part. Since you were unsure of what was happening inside his head, you decided that a tap or hand on the shoulder was a bad idea. People react poorly to being touched even in the gentlest manner when they didn’t agree to be, and especially if that person isn’t focused due to a panic attack or any other reaction as a result of an anxiety or stress-based trigger. As determined earlier, calling out to him using his nickname didn’t garner much of a response. However, you knew now what to try, despite the initial shock of awkwardness that would come from the moment. 

“Aaron?”

The name seemed so foreign coming from your mouth, even if you only spoke it just above a whisper. To you, his name was Hotch, that’s all you’ve called him since starting at the BAU. As a matter of fact, you were positive the only person who calls him by his first name on a regular basis is Rossi, but the two of them have a close friendship and it just seems natural. Though you were still trying to sort out your thoughts from what you perceived as an awkward moment, your goal was met. Hotch was now staring at you, a kind of stare that you felt screamed “I just want to rest.” 

“Uh, Hotch, sorry.” You quickly spoke again, assuming he turned to you after the unusual use of his first name. “I wanted to check and make sure everything was alright. I heard the sink go on and off several times but it’s been 25 minutes now since I first noticed and I just felt I should- where are you going?” 

Since you moved into the bathroom after opening the door, there was enough room between the sink and yourself to allow Hotch to leave. Taken aback by the continued unnatural state of the situation, you sighed and returned to the main area of your room. There, Hotch was sitting on the edge of his bed, the one that faced yours. You sat down on your own bed, sighed again, and began to talk.

“Do you uh, can we talk about what’s happening right now?” 

Hotch was staring at the carpet with such intensity, you thought he was about to burn a hole in it. However, once you began to speak, he immediately looked at you, making eye contact and listening in true gentlemanly fashion.

“You should get some more sleep, I asked that the team be back at the police station ready to work by 9.” He replied calmly.

You were absolutely dumbfounded, so beyond comprehension of the situation at this point, your mouth hung open in bewilderment.

“I-seriously?” Your tone was gentle, but your words were oozing with confusion and slight concern. “Hotch, listen, I don’t want to force you to discuss details of-“

“Then don’t,” he interjected. Though he cut you off mid-sentence, there was no irritation in his voice. “Listen, I was having difficulty sleeping, that’s all. Surely there have been nights where you’ve found it difficult to get a decent night’s sleep, yes?”

“Sure,” you answered, your mind racing with concern and determination, “I mean come on, we’re in hotels nearly every week. The things I would do for a full week where I can go to sleep in my own bed! Now, I know I’ve already asked, but I need to know if we can talk about what’s going on with you. I just don’t think this is all because you can’t sleep.”

“Please, Y/N, now is not the time. I’m fine.” His response sounded the most Hotch of them all, but you knew there was something bothering him. Even if he was trying to mask the physical tells, you had a gut feeling. That and you saw him on the verge of a full-blown panic attack not 5 minutes ago.

“Hotch, please, talk to me.” At this point, the concern had taken full control. You understood why he maybe didn’t want to talk about his emotions, it’s the anxious mind’s definition of vulnerability: if someone other than myself knows how I feel, then I can get hurt or hurt others. Even still, you’d think offering a shoulder to cry on wouldn’t be met with such stubbornness.

“Y/N, I’ve told you multiple times now, I’m-“

“Damn it Aaron, I don’t care what you’ve told me! I opened that bathroom door and saw a man who was a nervous wreck, not a man who was okay.” You had no clue which of your emotions took over, but you sort of liked how it felt, to express your emotions and frustrations. “I just want to help, to be there, and you can’t give me so much as a yes or no answer when I ask if you want to talk! What is it, are you afraid I’ll tell someone? That the stoic Aaron Hotchner actually has feelings? Is that what it is?”

“That’s enough.” Hotch’s voice had gone lower and far more stern. It was a certain tone you’d heard before, typically in the interrogation room. Knowing that you issued such a response made your stomach turn. Your intention was not to be insensitive or demeaning, but you managed to do so without any second thought. 

“Just... please talk to me, for the love of God!” You weren’t sure when it happened, but you were standing now, looking down slightly at the man whose pain was now causing your own. “Listen, I care about you. Probably more than you realize, and definitely more than I should be admitting to at this time of night, but it’s true. Trust me, I wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, but you were in that bathroom for so long, I began to worry. I got up and found someone who appeared to need help. Hotch, you were shaking.” You paused for a moment, letting out a sigh that bordered on a chuckle, though it was purely stress-induced. “You of all people don’t just shake because of a poor night’s sleep. Whatever it is, whatever caused all of...this, I hope you’re alright.” 

You were pacing at the end of the room, making absolutely no eye contact with Hotch. After all you said, it made you nervous to see the look on his face. What was it, anger? Disappointment? Shock? It didn’t matter, your own guilt for some of the things you let out seemed worse than any facial expression. Feeling your own exhaustion come over you, you sat back down on your bed. However, you felt the mattress sink just to your right.

“It’s always the same. There’s this dark room, which I can always see myself standing in the middle of. I can’t move, I’m not sure why, but I’m stuck in the middle of the room.” You hadn’t made eye contact yet, but rather, you were fixated on his hands. His fingers tapped quietly at the mattress, perhaps to hide that he had started shaking again. Still, he continued. “Out of nowhere, the room lights up. I can see the team standing in one of the far corners of the room, and in the other is-” he paused again, taking a deep breath. You watched as he folded his hands in his lap, only to unfold them and repeat the process a few times. “It’s Jack.”

You had a strong gut feeling as to where this was going. Of course you had picked up by now that Hotch was talking about a nightmare, one that occurs frequently enough for him to begin to rattle off details in such a rapid manner. Almost instinctively, you stood up from the bed, rushed over to the desk in the corner of the room, and took the chair over to where you were sitting. Once seated, you took Hotch’s hands into your own. Glancing up at him, you could see the flash of shock in his eyes, though the slight release of tension in his face and shoulders indicated you made the right choice. Gently running your thumbs across his hands, Hotch let out a quiet sigh.

“I see everyone before me, and then I can’t. The room goes dark again, but now I can move. I start running to where I think everyone is. Before I find anyone, the light is back, I can see again. Except, I uh, wish I couldn’t.” He paused again, and you could feel his grip tightening slightly. “Each member of the team is, well, everyone has a gunshot wound to the chest. Right through the heart. I go over to the team, and though you’ve all been shot, I can hear you crying out to me. ‘Hotch, help,’ ‘please, don’t let us die,’ ‘you have to save us, Hotch, please.’ I want to, believe me, I do, but I can’t see Jack. He’s gone, he was right in front of me, but now he’s gone. Still standing by the team, I can hear gentle footsteps behind me. My son, it has to be him. I run again, hoping I can find him and keep him safe. I finally see him, and he sees me too. There’s some more running, until I’ve grabbed him and wrapped him in a hug. No sooner than I do, I hear another shot ring out. It’s Jack. The team is gone, my son is gone, it’s just me. I’m alone, left with this, crippling grief. I failed. I couldn’t save the people who mean the most to me. Eventually I wake up, but that’s just as bad as the dream sometimes. Sometimes I wake up with a pillow clutched to my chest, thinking it’s my son’s lifeless body. Sometimes I immediately run to the bathroom to scrub my hands because I wake up thinking the blood of my closest friends is all over my hands.”

At this point, Hotch’s grip on your hands was intense. This was a man who had suffered great personal loss, yet dreamt about it nearly every night. You looked up at him again, but this time what you saw made your heart drop. Hotch was crying. Quietly, like he either didn’t want you to notice or that he was unaware of it himself. Trying to hold it together yourself, you stood and pulled Hotch to his feet. Gently kicking the chair out of the way, you pulled the man into your arms and held him as tightly as possible without causing any physical pain. Gingerly putting his arms around you, the only noise in the room was the soft hum of the air conditioner. Though Hotch towered over you, you didn’t feel small in his arms. Perhaps it was because you were, in essence, holding him. As his breath hitched from crying, you ran your hand up and down his back, consoling him with quiet “it’s okay’s” and “I’m here’s.”

Moments passed, and the two of you remained in the warmth of each other. You felt Hotch’s breathing return to normal, which was settling for you and certainly relaxing for him. Eventually, you felt him take one sharp inhale, proceeded by a long exhale: a yawn.

“Hotch,” you spoke, your voice calm and warm, “you should get some sleep. You wanted us back at the police station by 9, right?”

Hotch gently pulled back from your embrace, doing such so that he was able to make eye contact with you. “As much as I would love to be able to get some more sleep, it usually doesn’t happen on nights like this.”

Fair point. Why risk having the same terrifying dream twice in one night? Though you understood where he was coming from, Hotch needed sleep. 

“I have an idea. What if I- uh, actually, never mind.” You were mentally kicking yourself again, because you knew exactly how that sentence was going to end. Though you understand why you stopped talking,Hotch was glancing between you and his bed, slightly confused.

“What if you what, Y/N?” His response was full of anticipation.

You sighed, staring at the carpet. “Well, a while ago I read some article that insinuated that holding or being near someone as they’re trying to sleep releases oxytocin, which apparently is incredibly calming. Crazy, huh? Forget I even suggested it, there’s no way this is real, right?”

As you sheepishly glanced up at the man before you, you noticed something odd. The corners of his mouth appeared to be pulled the slightest bit…up? Immediately, your brain began to run in panic mode. The thoughts that filled your head played to the tunes of "Oh what did I do? Why did I say that, did I really need to say that? He’s definitely smiling because he thinks I’m crazy, that has to be it."

“Let me make sure I understand you.” The sound of Hotch’s voice brought you back to reality, and thankfully so. “You want to lay down next to me, in my bed in this hotel room, for science?”

You flashed a grin of relief. “Yes! Well, no. I mean yes, but of course only if you want me to. Also, I don’t even have to lay with you, laying by you I’m sure would be comforting to some extent. Scientifically speaking, of course.”

Hotch now had a full (albeit subtle) smile on his face. Guaranteed your rambling made you look like a complete fool, but if you were being totally honest, it was too late to care. Besides, Hotch was smiling, when you first saw him upon getting out of bed, he looked awful.

“Sure,” he replied, “as long as you stop mentioning science, I don’t want to feel like I’m sleeping next to Reid.”

Without any further hesitation, Hotch had climbed back into his bed. He gently patted the empty space next to him. Though you were the one who suggested the idea, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel a little awkward. Come on, you suggested your boss get more sleep, and that it’d help if you laid next to him? You pushed the thought aside, hoping for the best. Grabbing your pillow, you walked over to the unoccupied side of Hotch’s bed and laid down. Apparently the feeling of “what did I just agree to?” was mutual, as you and Hotch were both laying on your backs, staring up at the ceiling. However, you were first to break the silence.

“Hey, I’m sorry for some of the things I said earlier. I guess I was too caught up in what I was doing wrong as a confidante that I began to blame you for not telling me. I know you have emotions, and choose to handle them in a way that works for you, and I shouldn’t have attacked that.”

Hotch turned his head to look at you. “It’s okay, I forgave you the moment I realized you were right. I try to do my work without emotional interference, only to find out that I try to do just about everything without emotional interference. Honestly, it does more harm than good.”

Without saying anything else, Hotch moved over to your side of the bed. You were laying on your side, it was easier to look at Hotch as he spoke. As he inched closer, you wrapped your arms around him and brought him to your body. He nuzzled his head between your head and chest, bringing his right arm across your torso. You were still trying to figure out how to manipulate your arms so they wouldn’t feel all fuzzy when you woke up. Finally, you settled on the right arm wrapping behind his head and your left hand resting on his shoulder. 

The part of you that had a little crush felt like it was going to explode. There he was, Aaron Hotchner, in your arms. It was taking everything in your power to not totally freak out and ruin the moment.

“Y/N?” There it was again, Hotch’s voice bringing you back from your fantastical freak-out. Though, there was something different about the way he spoke now. His voice was much softer, it seemed as if it was not his own. “Could you say it again?”

You smiled, realizing that he sounded different because he was nearly asleep. “Say what again, Hotch?”

“My first name. I’ve never heard you use it before tonight, but I like the way you say it.”

You let out a quiet chuckle, your heart feeling so full it may explode. “Goodnight, Aaron.”

There was no response. As you adjusted your focus, you saw that he had fallen asleep, a small smile plastered on his face. You watched as his chest gently rose and fell, a stark contrast from the rapid and heavy breathing you watched earlier. He finally seemed calm, at peace, even. Tomorrow, well, later today, how are we going to address this? You were intrigued as to how the two of you would move on in the morning, but the thought didn’t last for too long. Closing your eyes and drifting off into your own sleep, all you knew was that things were going to be euphoric, at least until you returned to work at 9.


End file.
